Some Things Just Can't Be Said
by Die Schreiber
Summary: Pre-series; John Winchester takes his two boys to a small town for what seems like a routine hunt. What he doesn't expect is that the evils man can commit are sometimes more horrible than what he deals with regularly.  Temporary Hiatus
1. Chapter 1

So this is only my second fanfiction, so feel free to post input!

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><p>=-1-=<p>

Sam sat patiently beside his brother in the backseat of the Impala.

John had left a few moments before to get a room in the small town's only motel.

There had been a lead to a hunt, something about a few mysterious deaths. There were only four victims to speak of, the kills spanning over a few months, but John had noticed something... off about the cause of death.

Sudden aneurisms were the cause of death in all four victims, all of which were healthy. There weren't any connections to the victims, except the cause of death. In fact, all ages of the victims varied, three men one woman, and even the race varied between them.

Dean glanced to his brother, who had picked up a book and began reading.

The eldest, 15 a few months ago, scoffed quietly and shook his head, glancing back out the window.

Only two other cars were in the parking lot; a blue firebird and a green truck.

The driver of the green truck got out and began walking to the main building, but paused.

Dean looked up just as the man paused.

He reminded Dean of a lawyer, with the suit and shiny shoes. The man waved slightly and walked up to the car.

"Hi," he smiled, looking around. "Sorry to bother you but do you know where the store is? The diner over there is expensive." he motioned across the street.

Dean glanced over, "No, sorry." he looked back to the man.

"Oh, well thanks then." He straightened, giving Dean a small nod. He stepped back then turned, walking towards the main building again.

John walked out moments later, watching the man for a moment then opened the passenger door.

He heaved the box from the front seat onto the roof of the car, then pulled the two bags from the floor.

"Come on boys," he said. "Help me unload."

Dean dropped onto the motel bed, bouncing four or five of Sam's school books onto the ground.

"Dean!" Sam yelled from the kitchen, trudging in and picking them up off the ground. "I already picked that bed…"

"It's mine now." Dean replied with a grin.

Sam groaned and laid the stack of books onto the other bed, glaring back at his brother while he gathered the rest of his things.

"So how long did dad say his hunt would take this time?" Sam asked.

With a shrug, Dean glanced around, finding the remote. "A few weeks, a month tops."

"A month?" Sam asked, obviously not pleased.

"Yeah…" Dean glanced to his little brother, slightly confused. Normally Sam was the one pleading to stay longer. "He didn't have a lot of detail to go on this thing ahead of time, so a lot of his research he's gotta do around here…"

" Yeah…" Sam sighed, looking away from his brother. "Do you think he'll come home in between?"

There was another short pause from Dean before he replied. "I'm not sure… you feeling well, Sammy?"

The younger brother cringed slightly at the name. "It's Sam…" he mumbled, then quickly added, "Just wondering. This place gives me the creeps…"

Dean nodded, losing interest in the conversation for two reasons. All towns that were small freaked Sam out in the first place; something about them always had the youngest Winchester on edge. Secondly, Dean found an interesting show on the tv, spring break volleyball to be exact.

Sam rolled his eyes, picking up the homework he'd gotten from the teachers from the school on the way in town, and went into the kitchen to begin.

"You should do your homework too…" Sam said, looking back at his brother.

"Yeah, sure, just give me a bit." Dean smiled.

Dean walked out of the door, his brother already waiting outside. He locked the door, tucking his knife into his jacket pocket and walked up to his younger brother.

Sam pulled his jacket around himself tighter, grumbling about the sudden breeze.

"It's spring… why is it so cold?" Sam asked.

"Cuz it's not summer yet."

Sam gave him a sideways glance, one that told his older brother that he was NOT amused.

The school was only a few blocks away, but he fifteen minutes of cold wind had Sam ready to commit himself indoors. Not that he would say anything. Dean seemed to take anything with stride, and even now he seemed fine.

So Sam was going to buck it up, just like Dean.


	2. Chapter 2

AN; Here again with a new chapter. Hope you all like it : ) Sorry for the delay on the update. Please enjoy. Some oocness, though I'm trying to stick to how they really are.

Disclaimer: I OWN NOTHING BUT THIS SICK BRAINCHILD! Everything else belongs to Erik Kripke and co.

Warning: This story gets pretty dark and deals with real adult themes. You have been warned.

Line

School was the same day in and day out, and the boys went back to the motel afterwords.

John hadn't been home since the third or fourth day; that was two weeks ago. He called a few times, letting his son's know he was ok and that the job was almost done.

The last phone call was three days ago.

Dean rustled through the kitchen. They'd gone through their stores of food, and were running low.

"You think we should go get some groceries?" Sam asked, putting his pencil down and pushing his finished homework to the centre of the table.

"We're gonna have to." Dean sighed, pulling some money from his pocket.

He had five dollars, and the emergency (scammed) credit card their father had given him.

Sam pulled his jacket on and followed behind his brother.

(line)

The clerk at the grocery store looked at the two boys with one eyebrow raised. Nearly sixty dollars in junk food, and the teenager was paying with a credit card.

"My dad's," Dean grinned, winking at the cashier, tucking it back into his pocket.

"Um…" she blushed, looking down. "Do you need some help carrying that out?" she asked.

"Nah," Dead replied, pulling a few of the bags from the counter as Sam grabbed the others. "But I wouldn't mind your number."

Sam roughly pushed his brother from behind, mumbling an apology to the cashier as he maneuvered Dean towards the exit.

"Really?" He said aloud when they made it outside. He shifted the bags in his hands. "Don't you think that she was a _little _too old for you? And besides, Dean, can you NOT hit on someone for five whole minutes!" He glared at Dean.

The older brother stopped, taken aback. Normally Sam didn't announce his anger like that. If anything, he scoffed, walked away, and let Dean do his thing.

"Are you going to stand there all day?" Sam asked, frowning.

"Sammy…"

"Sam." The younger brother stated firmly, if not sharply.

"Are you all right kiddo?"

"I'm fine, Dean, I just think that I have a cold, that's all." Sam mumbled, turning around and continuing towards the hotel.

Dean followed the rest of the way in silence, his attention on Sammy.

When they finally got back to their room, Dean made ravioli's for dinner.

(line)

Dean sat upright when he heard a crash come from across the room. He pulled the gun from beneath his pillow and hurried towards the source of the noise.

The bathroom light turned on to Dean's left, causing him to turn quickly. "Who's there!"

"Dean?" Sam asked.

Dean sighed, lowering his gun. "What the hell are you doing tearing the house apart at," he glanced at the clock, "Two o'clock in the morning?"

Suddenly Dean heard retching noises, and frowned. He set the gun on the kitchen table and padded towards the bathroom.

"Sorry, Dean." Sam mumbled when he finally stopped, looking pitifully at his brother.

The elder brother let out another sigh, kneeling beside Sam and rubbed his back. "You need some medicine?" He asked.

Sam shook his head. "I don't think I could keep it down…"

Dean nodded. This was going to be a _long_ night.


	3. Chapter 3

AN: THANK YOU FOR READING!

Disclaimer: I DO NOT own this; only the plot bunny hopping around this page : )

Warnings: VERY ADULT THEMES be warned

(Line)

Sam finally got to sleep later that night… or earlier that morning. Whichever one seemed better.

Dean groaned loudly, putting a hand on his brother's forehead. He felt warm…

Changing quietly, Dean put the trashcan beside Sam's bed and put his gun back underneath his pillow.

Locking the door, he left the room.

(line)

"I'm sorry, your card has been declined." The cashier said, handing the card back to Dean.

"Uh… ok." Dean put it back into his pocket, pulling the five dollar bill out. "How much was it again?" he asked; his usual charm wasn't there.

"Seven thirteen…" she said.

"Uhh…."

"I've got this," the man behind Dean said, holding his own card out. The lady paused, but accepted the card.

"Uh, thanks…" Dean said, realizing it was the man that had asked about diners in the town a few weeks ago.

"No problem, kid. You need a ride back to the motel?" The man asked, paying for his things as well.

"No, I'm fine," replied the teen.

"Well for expensive medicine like that I would assume the person waiting for it would need it right away."

Dean had to agree with the man, and as sick as Sam was he didn't really have another half an hour to walk back. "Sure… I guess."

"I'm Ivan, by the way." He said, reaching his hand out to shake Dean's, who did the same.

"Dean."

"So where's your father?" the man asked, throwing his bag behind the seat of the truck and buckling up. "I've noticed he hasn't been around that much."

Shrugging, Dean felt suddenly awkward as the truck started down the road. "He's on business here in town. He comes home a few times a week. He usually stays in the office they let my dad use. Long hours, you know…" He looked at the man and suddenly felt the need to add, "But he calls every night."

The man let out a small laugh, shaking his head.

"What?" Dean asked. The man couldn't _know_ that he was lying.

"Kind of funny that he didn't leave you the car is all." The man said.

Dean nodded, letting a quite sigh of relief out. "Yeah, I said the same thing to him."

"Well," the man said, "Here we are."

Dean got out of the truck, looking at the sun which had gotten higher in the sky.

"Um… So thanks for the help and the ride… I'll pay you back…"

"Well, if you mean it, you could just come over to my place sometime later tonight. I've got a few boxes of things I need to get to my car so I can leave town tonight. My work here is finished and I have to be on my way to the next town…"

"Sure…" Dean replied, nodding to the man before he went into the room and locked the door. A chill ran up his spine; that man was creepy.

(line)  
>Dean watched the tv, though not that many good shows were on during a Sunday afternoon.<p>

The phone rang, causing Sam grumble and roll around. It stopped, then rang again.

"Hey dad," Dean said. "How's it going?"

"Sorry, Dean, it's going to be a little longer."

"Do you have any idea what it is?" Dean asked his father, flipping the channel.

"A spirit, maybe. I think someone is controlling whatever it is, though. How are you two doing?"

"Sam is sick."

"Is he ok? Do you need me to come home?"

"No… I just, the credit card was declined, so we don't have any more money."

"How much food do you have?" John asked slowly.

"Enough to last another three days," Dean replied.

"And medicine?"

"If Sam wasn't throwing it up every time I gave it to him we would have more."

"Does he have a fever?" John asked, suddenly more worried.

"Yes; it keeps going up and down."

"Has he been able to keep any water down?"

"No." Dean replied, hearing the worry in his father's voice.

"All right, I need you to wait with him. Try to get him to drink some water, no soda, Dean. I'll be home very shortly."

"Yes, sir." Dean hung the phone up.

Sam had never been this sick before, and that scared Dean.

A sharp knock at the door pulled Dean from his thoughts. He stood up and made his way to the door, his hand on the shotgun by the window. He looked out the peephole, then sighed and pulled his hand from the firearm.

The irritated teen opened the door slightly. "Hello, Ivan. Right now isn't such a good time, my little brother is sick, so maybe later."

He closed the door before the man could reply and went to the refrigerator and grabbed a bottle of water.


	4. Chapter 4

AN: Thank you for reading my story so far : ) Sorry for the long time for the update, Hope you enjoy

Warning: Adult themes. Non-graphic non-con.

Disclaimer : I do not own any of the characters or the show. I own the idea that brought this out for you to view. If you have any ideas comments etc, feel free to post. Thank you.

(line)

It was only a few hours before John showed up, the purr of the Impala diminished by the breaks slamming as he pulled into the parking lot.

Dean looked out the window and opened the door, his father not even bothering to unload anything from the car.

The side of Sam's bed caved a little as John sat down. The younger Winchester mumbled something when he felt a cool hand press against his forehead.

"Dean, I need to take him to the hospital," John finally said as he stood, picking his youngest son up and carrying him towards the door.

Dean opened the door and followed his father out, opening the passenger door to the impala as well.

"I want you to stay here and pack everything up and be ready… we should be back by tomorrow morning at the latest."

"Alright," Dean replied, stepping back and watching his father leave. He sighed, running a hand through his hair and stalked back to his room, hoping Sam was ok.

He closed the door and walked over to his bed, collapsing on it with a groan.

The silent room began to get on his nerves.

Turning the tv on, Dean went about his business, throwing their clothes in their respective bags and cleaning the trash off the floor.

(line)

Dean groaned as someone knocked on the door. He rolled out of the bed, tripping over the blankets and stumbled to the door, still half asleep.

He checked the peephole, then pulled the door open. "Look, I'm sorry…" he was cut off when a knife was pressed sharply into his side, breaking the skin.

Dean let out a low hiss, raising his hands into the air and let Ivan push him back into the room. "What the hell, man…"

"I tried to make it easier…" Ivan stated, shrugging his shoulder. His eyes bore deeply into Dean's as he pushed the teen farther into the room. "This could have been much simpler had you just come to my place last night."

"I told you, my little brother…"

"I don't fucking care," the man's calm demeanor dropped as he spat the words out, shoving Dean backwards.

The boy tripped, landing on his side on the floor.

"GET UP!" Ivan yelled, stepping forward.

Dean kicked him hard in the shin, scrambling towards his bed to his pillow.

He felt the butt of his gun. He felt it slide out of his grasp as he was yanked back by his leg.

Dean kicked at Ivan again, but was rewarded with the knife embedded into his leg.

Dean let out a yelp, turning to get the man off of him, but was backhanded.

He fell back to the floor, dizzy from the force of the blow, and tried blinking the pain away.

Before he realized it, though, the man was tugging at his pants. "The hell…" he groaned; his voice felt far off, like he wasn't even there.

Cool air met Dean's legs, and sense rushed back to him. He tried sitting up, only to be met with the sharp blade in his throat. Fear flooded through the teen as he realized what the man was doing, what was going to happen.

"Keep quiet, now, or I'll slit your throat."

(line)

The room was a mess. There was blood on the floor, and quite a few things strewn across the house.

Dean shivered, pulling his pants back on, and surveyed the mess.

Ivan probably wouldn't have left through the back window if a car hadn't pulled in. As soon as the loud engine came closer, Ivan had panicked; he'd seen the boys' father earlier, and he did not look like someone to mess with. So he crashed out the back window.

Dean limped to the bathroom, and grabbed the first aid kit. He carefully pulled his pants down, and grimaced.

The knife wound on his leg was mostly superficial, so he cleaned it and used butterfly bandages to close it.

The door opened, causing Dean to jump up, hissing in pain, and yank his pants up.

"Dean!" John yelled, rushing through the rooms.

"Dad," Dean said, walking into the room.

"What the… Dean what happened here?" John said, motioning to the mess. He looked around the room, then saw the blood. "Are you ok?"

"Someone broke in here… I fought them." Dean shrugged, glancing to the door.

Sam watched his brother, and read the obvious lie.


	5. Chapter 5

**AN: HOLY COW! 1141 words before my author's note : ) New personal record lol So here's a quick update and I hope you all enjoy!**

**Btw, thank you for the idea Deansmuse, I promise it will be put to good use, and yes Sam knows his brother is lying, but not what about.**

**Disclaimer: All characters belong to their original creators. I am NOT making money on this.**

**Warning: Mainly this is just Dean angst, no heavy topics in this chapter. **

(line)

The impala sat parked beside a cemetery, the engine still running as the youngest Winchester sat in the front seat staying warm.

He peered out the passenger's window, watching his brother and father walking along the graves and reading the headstones, looking for the right one.

John had figured it out the day before that what they were hunting was a ghost with revenge on its mind.

He had been on his way to salt and burn it when he called the boys and had to rush home.

The sun was barely up and it was raining outside, and Dean was miserable.

He helped his father dig the grave; the only good thing to come out of the rain was the soft dirt, but even that was marginal.

John poured an accelerant on the body while Dean spread salt, then watched as his father lit a match and dropped it in the hole.

The pair watched silently as the remains burned in the anticlimactic end of the hunt, then shoveled the dirt back into the grave.

"Let's go," John said, wiping his forehead then putting a hand on Dean's shoulder.

The boy flinched away, taking a step sideways.

John gave Dean a questioning look, taken aback.

"My shoulder is a little sore from the fight…" Dean replied, glancing back to the car. "Let's get back before Sammy takes off and leaves us behind," he said with a light smile and headed towards the car.

John popped the trunk and tossed the shovel in. "So I think we're heading east for our next hunt." John said, opening the door and getting in the car.

When Dean was situated, he relaxed and closed his eyes.

"East…" Sam said, coughing lightly. "Why are we going east?"

John turned the wheel, the tires spinning for a moment in the mud before they got traction, and pulled onto the small road that ran parallel to the cemetery.

He waited a few minutes before replying.

"In New York there have been reports of livestock getting ill and dying suddenly with no probable cause. I'd say it's a safe bet that something there needs taken care of."

Sam nodded his agreement to his father, glancing back to the elder Winchester brother, and finding him asleep. "Must have been a bad fight," Sam mumbled to his father.

John let out a sigh, turning onto another road and frowned. Something felt off about Dean since the fight.

(line)

The impala pulled up to a cheap looking motel late that evening.

On the other side of the street was a bar. Even though it was a week night, it was still full.

After a quick talk with the motel manager, and handing over the last of the money, John took the key and walked back out to the impala.

He pulled a few things from the car. "We're only going to be here overnight, so just grab the necessities." The boys followed example and carried their bags to the room.

Sam tossed his things beside a bed and plopped down on it, just wanting to go to sleep.

Dean sat his bag down, pulling his gun from the bag and putting it underneath the pillow, then checking all the windows in the room.

Satisfied, he made his way to the tv and turned it on.

John propped the shotgun beside the door, then walked into the kitchen and pulled a few things from his bag, putting a few beers in the fridge and a can on the counter.

Though it wasn't the most conventional, he poured raviolis into two separate bowls and put each in the microwave, heating them up.

"After you eat dinner I need you to take your medicine, Sam." John said, handing his youngest a bowl and spoon. "Sorry it's not healthier, but we'll have to make due." He handed Dean the other bowl.

"Thanks," Dean took his bowl and began eating, not tearing his eyes off of the show.

John looked at his watch, "All right, boys. I've got to go make some money. I don't want you two up too late." He ruffled Sam's hair and walked to the door. "Goodnight."

"Night," Sam said, yawning and crawling underneath his blankets.

John smiled slightly. Though his youngest was 11, he was still the same little boy who, when he got sick, forgot he was 'trying to be a big kid,' as he would put it.

Dean grabbed the two empty bowls and walked to the sink, waving to his father and rinsing the dishes. As he moved to dry them, one slipped from his hand and fell on the linoleum, shattering.

Sam jumped, sitting up, and looked at his older brother.

"Sorry," Dean said, crouching down and picking up the biggest shards. He tossed them in the trash, thankful that they were only cheap dishes, and grabbed the broom.

They could buy some new ones the next time they stopped at a store.

Making sure the floor was spotless, or in his case, shardless, Dean put the broom up and opened the fridge door.

A few bottles of water and his beer, that was all that was in there.

Dean pulled one of the beers out, popping the top off and taking a large gulp.

Though it tasted disgusting, he held back the grimace and walked back to his chair and continued watching the tv, sipping on his drink.

"Dean," Sam said, walking up to his older brother. "Why are you drinking one of dad's beers?" He questioned. John had let both of his boys try it once, and even let Dean drink with him on occasion. The occasion had to be something huge, though.

John would never let either of his boys drink without asking, though. Dean had found that out and had spent the rest of the night cleaning all the guns the Winchester trio owned.

Dean spared a short, but equally sharp look for his brother. "Because I want to," he replied, drinking the last of the bottle and setting it down.

Sam paused, frowning. Dean wasn't acting like his normal self, even his angry side was different.

"Dean, are you ok?"

He got no response.

"Since you were attacked at the hotel…"

"Don't talk about that!" Dean spat, standing up and shoving Sam hard.

The younger boy fell back, landing harshly on the rug, and looked up to his older brother. "Dean?" He asked softly, not sure what had just happened.

A look of regret passed Dean's face before he stormed past his brother to the door.

Yanking his coat off the coat hoo m k, he unlocked the door and pulled it open. "I'll be back."

Sam watched as Dean left him alone in the small motel room.

Sam pulled himself off the ground using the chair. 'Dad's going to be mad.'


End file.
